


Marvel

by ThyCannoli (orphan_account)



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Anal Sex, Canon Compliant, Established Relationship, Falling In Love, Homesickness, Internal Conflict, Internal Monologue, Kissing, M/M, Poetry, Porn with Feelings, Religious Imagery & Symbolism, Rimming, Secret Relationship, Winterfell, a bit of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-29
Updated: 2017-09-29
Packaged: 2019-01-06 20:13:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12218100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/ThyCannoli
Summary: Theon and Robb have sex sometime before Ned leaves for King's Landing. Robb feels, Theon is confliiiicted, Grey Wind's fed up with all the tension in the air.(Porn with lots of feelings, Theon's POV.)





	Marvel

**Author's Note:**

> Hope you'll like it!
> 
> Also, we're getting straight to the action.

His first thrust is a smooth glide in that makes Robb gasp. He stills for a while, panting, aching, wanting, until Robb lets out a helpless noise of frustration, a little _‘C’mon’_ Theon has grown to love. This isn’t the first time they are doing this. Not their second either. Still, it’s an endless marvel, the way Robb lets go of honour and pride and receives him, the way his back arches and lashes flutter at every smack their hips make.

“Yeah, that’s good…” Robb moans like the horniest whores of Winterfell, and Theon would know – he has tried them all by now. But nothing and no one will ever compare, how could they?

Robb’s hair splays in sweaty, wet curls across his pristine linen sheets, gleaming red-white in the light of a candle they left burning on the nightstand. It reminds Theon of the Godswood and the heart trees, and in this moment, with Robb so hot-tight around him and direwolves howling in the yard, he dreams of worshipping a new deity and leaving the Drowned God to its guano covered rocks.

“Kiss me?” Robb asks, shyly afraid, and Theon has to let out a breath of a laugh. What is he afraid of? Rejection? As if… As if.

They are face to face, of course, Robb on his back, legs like a vise around Theon’s waist - the idiot prefers it that way, lovingly gazing into each other's eyes and baring the secrets of their souls. Or rather, Robb doing all that. Theon tries to play his part, honestly, he does. But it's easier for Robb Stark, son of Ned Stark - he doesn't have Theon's darkness, he only has the light. Theon doesn't feel worthy of it.

Tonight is his though, and he wants to own Robb, the way Robb already owns him, he wants it angry and hard and now and _always_. He won’t ever get what he really wishes, he knows - _the ward, the hostage, the prisoner -_ but he wants it anyway, burns for it. He needs to feel that he has something that ties him to this man, barely more than a boy.

That’s why he kisses with the fervor of a man half-starving who takes the first bite of his food, why he plunders Robb’s mouth with his tongue, scrapes his stubble along his jaw. There’s no finesse to it, nothing gentle. And when Theon pulls back, he pulls _out_ too, spanking Robb's ass.  
  
"Hands and knees" he orders, not expecting to see Robb so far gone that he instantly scrambles to obey just to get Theon's cock back to fill him up.

Outside, Grey Wind starts fussing again and he can hear a guard cursing at all the damn noise the pup makes. Not for the first time, Theon wonders if the beast can feel his master, if it senses his moods. Robb mumbles something into his wrist that sounds ripped-raw with want and the howling stops, an eerie quiet taking its place.  
  
Theon slides back in, wet-slick-smack, and smoothes a hand down Robb's back, slipping forward to trace the muscles of Robb's stomach.  
  
"Please..." Robb whimpers, bracing himself with his hands fisted in the sheets. His cock jerks and touches the back of Theon's hand, leaves a sticky spot on his finger.  
  
"Please what, my lord?" Theon asks, not suppressing his smirk as he starts rocking in a slow circle. His hands grip Robb’s hips for leverage as Robb spreads his thighs wide to draw him in deeper, strong muscles pulling taut and relaxing, the furs bunching up under Robb’s knees.  
  
"I hate you." That makes Theon laugh out loud.  
  
"No, you don't."  
  
Robb's cock is bobbing, leaking all over the covers whenever Theon fucks into him _just right_. He must be near delirious right now, Theon muses, eyes clouded as if he has taken a drink from the milk of the poppy.  
  
"You're gorgeous." Theon whispers and wants to take it back as soon as the words leave his mouth. He's Ironborn, not some wayward Tyrell knight who only ever speaks in poems and has golden flowers covering his armour. He is a fucking kraken, he can’t go around calling his whores gorgeous. Except, Robb is not paid at all and Theon can barely recall Pyke, can only remember the taste of salt in the back of his throat.  
He wants to take it back anyway, because it does sound foolish, but Robb’s whimpers cut off his excuses.

  
"Gods, Theon. Fuck me, please, fuck me right now"  
  
He really is gagging for it, isn’t he? The heir of Winterfell, spread out for Theon like a feast, so impatient to get devoured. If only he could show this to those fucking courtiers! They would never again believe their own sight. _“Look, it’s little Theon!”_ They always yell to one another whenever Robb’s absent. _“King of whores and cocksuckers. Long live his grace!”_ Then they laugh and he lets them, the lordlings, the maids, the stable boys and the squires, even the damned bastards that crawl and beg just to lick at Robb’s feet, because behind all their backs (or in front of their eyes), he’s fucking the future lord of Winterfell as if he was his lady wife.

  
“Would you _move_?” Robb growls at him, pushing backwards on his knees in a futile attempt to get his pleasure. Theon snorts and gives it to him, makes the bed creak under his thrusts, makes Robb shake and swear and writhe from lust.  
  
  
"Can I... inside?" Theon tries asking, but it's half-swallowed and breathless from need. Robb nods anyway.

  
"Yes, yes, anything, oh gods, yes" he mumbles like a mantra and Theon can't help it, he goes with a moan so loud he's fairly sure they can hear it down in King’s Landing.  
He feels Robb clench around him, feels his own seed, so warm and slick, flooding into Robb's tight heat, feels Robb's muscles quiver under his palms until he can't feel anything else, until the world goes white and mute.  
  
When he's done, he flops to the side like a dead man washed out by the sea, boneless, limp and weak. Robb's stock-still, face buried in the bedding, legs still spread the way Theon has left them. It’s a lucky thing they only ever have sex in Theon’s room - or the Godswood, because Theon can be pretty damn persuasive - the guards don’t give a fuck what Theon does there in his free time. Were they in Robb’s chambers, Theon’s head would be rolling in the mud by now.  
  
When Robb doesn't stir after a minute, Theon shakes off his momentary panic and climbs back over him. Ironborns do not ask their saltwives whether they are okay, but Theon cares about Robb (so much), he has to make sure in his own way. He starts peppering kisses down Robb's back. The candlelight's flicker sends playful shadows across Robb's shoulders that reminds him of ink, of the intricate patterns they paint on the Islands, wild and messy lines on skin. Theon imagines Robb there, by the sea as he kisses the knob of his spine. Imagines him half-naked and wind-blown, standing barefeet in shallow water when he buries his nose in the soft curls at his nape. He sees him amongst the waves, on the shore, inside a ship, at the edge of a cliff, while he’s tracing over nonexistent tattoos with his lips. He licks between Robb’s shoulder blades and tastes seawater.

When he reaches the last vertebrae at the top of Robb’s ass, Robb’s thighs start inching closed, fighting against Theon’s arms forcing them apart. His struggle is too amusing to stop, so Theon keeps on going, parts Robb’s cheeks and - a spur of the moment decision – he licks him _there_.

 _“Theon!”_ Robb gasps, scandalized.

Theon does not remove his mouth, nor his hands, and hums against Robb's puckered hole. “Hm?”

Robb groans and reaches back, pushing at Theon’s forehead. When Theon slaps his hand away, he whines. “Stop that! It’s _dirty_.”

“No more than sucking your cock.” That argument does not seem to convince Robb, who wriggles out of the hold and crawls a feet forward, slumping only after Theon has plastered himself to his back.

“I like dirty. Let me do it.” Theon murmurs into his ear and begins sucking a mark into his neck, low enough to hide under a collar. Most likely. Probably? Robb squirms, the bruise standing out against his fair skin.

“Did you spend yourself?” Theon asks lazily, snaking his arms under Robb’s chest. The cheek pressed to his heats up like wildfire as Robb blushes, still not comfortable talking about sex, and that’s plenty an answer in itself.

“Then I’m gonna make you do it again.”

“Heavens” Robb shivers. “You don't need-”

“Oh, but I want to.” Theon smirks and slides down. “Now be a good boy and keep quiet - if you can.”

 

After - _after,_ they lie down on their sides, facing each other. Theon idly plays with Robb’s chest hair, feeling smug and satisfied while Robb’s just staring at him. It’s getting unnerving, the intensity of that gaze, so Theon glances up.

Robb opens his mouth. “I lo–“

“Shh.” When Theon’s finger presses against his bitten-red lips, Robb kisses his fingertip. Theon sighs, his earlier comfort a thousand miles away. He’s getting cold, in spite of Robb burrowing close enough to press their foreheads together.

“Why don’t you let me?” He doesn’t sound hurt, not really, only tired. Theon’s not sure of the answer himself.

He knows what Robb so desperately wants to say, but he’s not ready to hear it. Can he even say it back? Does he have the right? He’s still not here on his own accord, his life’s forced to run a course chosen by others. If he’s not free, can he love like one who _is_?

No matter. Robb’s going to grow up to be a real man and take his father’s place. He’ll marry the beautiful daughter of some great house and forget about cold nights spent talking about water that stretches to the end of the world.

Robb’s gripping one of his hands, but Theon wrenches it away and turns onto his back, staring at the ceiling. Robb’s hand follows, strokes down his torso until his fingers rest in the fine trail of hair on Theon’s abdomen.

“You should go back soon, it’s almost dawn.” Theon says at last, his voice the one he uses during formal occasions.

“I’m staying.”

Gods, it hurts. Robb truly thinks they’re going to last and he’s making Theon fall, so hard that he might just die when push comes to shove. This is going to burn him so bad. Burn him, flay him, consume him alive, until all that’s left is sea salt in a blue-eyed giant’s eye.

Robb shuffles ever closer to him, half on top, and nuzzles Theon’s neck. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Does he know? Can he feel that he’s going to ruin Theon?

“Then you better not snore or I’ll kick your ass out.”

Robb snickers and yeah, alright, maybe Theon’s going to let them have this one night. He’s too tired to keep on fighting it. He’ll let Robb love him and he’ll let Robb hold him in his arms, and he’ll let Robb destroy him come morning.

Theon reaches out and runs a fingertip along Robb’s spent cock curiously. It does not even twitch. Robb winces and groans.

“Gods, you killed me.”

Theon laughs, hoping it’s not too hollow. He keeps the storm away from his face – lets it rage on inside – and kisses Robb like he’s Dornish peach.

“Not yet.”

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave kudos if you had fun reading :)


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